


You Deserved It

by FernyMike



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: (minor) Lumity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Platonic Boschlow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FernyMike/pseuds/FernyMike
Summary: It's easy to feel smug when your bully peaks in high school. It's harder to do so when you find out why.Platonic redemption-arc Boschlow.
Relationships: Boscha & Willow Park, Boscha/Willow Park
Comments: 14
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m fucked.”

That was Willow’s thought as she stood on the side of I-205 west, staring into her car’s engine with no idea of what to do. Something had gone wrong a few minutes earlier, heralded by the sounds of puttering, followed soon by the car losing speed. It was fortunate that Willow typically drove like a grandma in the right lane, because it enabled her to safely pull off into the shoulder and park the car. Now she was stuck there because of two bad decisions: buying a used 94 Camry but not Triple A.

She took her phone out and made a few calls, none of which were accepted. She sent some texts prefaced with the word ‘urgent’, but those too went unanswered. There was nothing left to try but wave down any of the innumerable cars coming down her way, but these too passed her by at sixty, sixty-five, seventy miles an hour. As fast as they were going, Willow could still see that the drivers didn’t even bother to turn to look at her.

The trip from Boise to Portland had been a spontaneous one, her workplace closing for a few days due to black mold or some such problem. She had cleaned and packed in a hurry the night before, caught a few hours of sleep, then left bright and early at six, hoping to reach her fathers’ house in time for a late lunch. Perhaps she should have given more thought to the state of her car, specifically when she had last changed the oil, if indeed that was the issue at hand.

She was just about to give the engine another look when she noticed that someone had stopped about fifty yards behind her: a biker. They made their way down the shoulder at a steady pace—regularly checking over their shoulder to ensure their safety—and came to stand with Willow in front of the engine. It was clear enough from the biker’s well-fitting jeans and leather jacket that _they_ were in fact _she_.

The biker looked at the engine for a moment, then asked, “Where you headed?”

“Hexide. Do you know where that is?”

“Yeah,” said the biker. “I’m on my way there. Want a lift?”

Willow decided it was her best option, and the two walked back to the bike and took off for Hexide. It was a quant, gem of a neighborhood nestled on the southwest edge of Portland, though in reality it functioned like a very small town. Its Victorian houses and shops of brick and varying dark shades of wood gave it a spooky, fantastical aspect which Willow was deeply nostalgic for. They pulled up to a tow shop, one of the more normal looking buildings in the town, and the biker went inside without a word.

The biker came out a few minutes later. “I have a buddy who’ll pick your car up and take it wherever you want, free of charge. Need me to take you anywhere else?”

Willow shook her head. “Everything is walking distance now, but thanks.”

The biker gave a barely perceptible nod of her helmet, then got back on her bike. “See ya around.” Then she took off down the road.

Willow’s fathers’ house was a ten-minute walk from the tow shop: five minutes perpendicular to main street, then five minutes perpendicular to that. The house was modest compared to some of the others, with only two stories and three bedrooms, but it was spacious compared to Willow’s studio. It was not her intention to live in the middle of downtown where the prices were highest, but her work required late hours and it was convenient to be only a short walk away.

The job itself was unremarkable: a nonprofit which taught kids the importance of protecting the planet and its various ecosystems. Willow would leave it if she could afford to—the idea of helping at her fathers’ gardening store occasionally floated around in her mind—but her graduate school loans ruled the roost. As tedious and frustrating as the work was, Willow was well-paid to set strategy, apply to grants, and keep the machinery well-oiled and turning.

Speaking of her fathers, they were waiting for Willow as soon as she knocked at the door. Cherek, a pudgy brown-man with a black beard, was the one to answer the door. “Thank goodness you’re alright,” he said as he pulled Willow inside with a hug. “We just saw your text and are so sorry that we missed it. Eda and Camila had us over to talk about flowers for Luz and Amity’s wedding and you know I like to silence my phone when I’m—”

“It’s okay, dad,” said Willow, interrupting her father’s unstoppable ramble. “Someone gave me a ride into town and a tow truck is picking up my car.”

“Who gave you a ride?” called an unseen voice. Tai, a pale man made up entirely of rectangles, came into view holding a potted orchid.

“A biker.”

Both men gasped simultaneously.

“Did you wear a helmet? Did you go the speed limit” asked Cherek.

“Was it a man or a woman? If it was a woman, was she cute?” asked Tai.

“Dad…dads, it was fine. I wore a helmet, and _she_ drove safely.”

That seemed to satisfy them. Tai went back to the kitchen to work on the orchid, but Cherek stayed to talk with Willow, both sitting down in the living room. “How are things at the job?”

“Fine. We’ve managed to stay within our budget so far this year, so that’s taken some of the usual stress off.”

“I was asking about the stress itself.”

Willow put her hand in her head and thought for a moment. Openness and honesty had never been an issue with her fathers—they were not in the judgement business—but she had been somewhat judicious in what she told them regarding her job. For example: they did not know that her position, while towards the type of the chain, just barely covered her living expenses, leaving little to go towards her student loans and retirement. It never occurred to Willow to ask her fathers for help because they too were strapped for cash, even while the store was doing better than ever before.

“I’m trying to get out of it,” said Willow. “I just haven’t much luck with finding anything better. And it’s a low bar.”

Cherek laughed, turning his round cheeks red. “I’m sure something will turn up eventually, sweetie.” He cleared his throat and narrowed his brow, the tell that Cherek was about to say something to be taken seriously. “Tai and I have held off on suggesting this, but you could come and…well, you know where I’m going with this.” He trailed off with a defeated tone.

Willow was quick to lean forward and take her father’s hand. “I do,” she said, appreciatively. “I’ve thought the same thing. I haven’t made up my mind yet, but I haven’t ruled it out either.”

“We’ll support you no matter what you choose,” said Cherek, with his spirits somewhat lifted. “So, where’s that car of yours?”

The car was brought by a short-while later, and the driver stuck around for a bit to look at the engine. He told Willow that it was busted beyond repair and would need a new one—Willow ruminated on this for the rest of the evening. Whether she bought a new engine or a new car, she knew that she would be unable to afford it even with a payout from her insurance. She decided it would be best to take the check, cancel the insurance, and put the funds towards something more useful. All this she typed into a large and detailed excel spreadsheet on her laptop.

Willow’s unrivaled skill in excel was what earned her the internships and jobs she had worked in her time since high school. Post-graduate degree? Preferable. Interpersonal skills? Nice to have. Mastery of excel? A necessity. Every business that Willow walked into never knew such financial efficiency until she had put together intricate and finely-tuned spreadsheets. It was a shame that she was never paid very well for the work itself.

She sighed discontentedly, then turned off her laptop and went to bed.

The next day was a Friday, and Willows fathers were just heading out the door when she walked into the kitchen. Tai went to start the car while Cherek stayed behind to greet Willow. “Good morning, sweetie.”

“Morning, dad,” said Willow through a yawn.

“Mmm, someone get this girl a pot of coffee or else she might fall asleep standing up.” Cherek teased his daughter in as sassy a tone as he could muster.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Do you still close at four on Fridays?” Cherek confirmed this. “I saw this cute coffeeshop on the ride in—Titan Coffee? I think I might check it out. What are you smirking at?

“I think you’re in for a surprise,” said Cherek as he walked out the door.

Titan Coffee was small chain local to Portland, with a location just down the street from the house. It was a cozy situation—black and white tile floor, dark-colored baseboards and cream walls. There was a surprising number of customers who took up nearly all of the tables insides, surprising because Hexide was such a sleepy neighborhood. Willow waited at the unattended counter for a minute before ringing a small bell.

“Just a second,” called an unseen voice. A moment later a tall, athletic woman came out from the back. She had an angular face, upon which was a small nose and a thin pair of lips. The most striking features were a pair of bluish-gray eyes and a pixie cut dyed hot pink. Those eyes met Willow’s and went wide in shock.

Willow cocked an eyebrow. “Boscha.”

They stood off like that for a moment, saying nothing but everything with their eyes. Boscha was the one to break the silence. “Hey, Willow. What, uh…what can I get you?

“Just a latte, please. Medium. Kind of surprised to see you here—I thought you went off to become a lacrosse pro.”

Lacrosse had been the light of Boscha’s life in high school. She had picked it up in middle school on a whim and found it to her liking. Her size, athleticism, and knack for reading offensive strategies made her a natural defender, and scouts from across the country visited frequently during her junior year. She had signed with a top university team—Willow could not remember who—and it was understood that she would go into the then emerging women’s league.

“Didn’t work out that way,” said Boscha, evenly. Her shocked expression was gone when she looked up at Willow. “You want foam?”

Willow nodded. “How long have you worked here?”

“I’ve been with the company for…jeez, almost a decade? But this location only opened a few months ago.”

Willow grinned to herself. So this was the fate that had befallen her high school bully: they had peaked in high school and was now relegated to working a dead-end job at a coffeeshop. Willow tried to not feel too smug.

“Good business?”

“It’s consistent. I try to market the place as best I can and sponsor different events—been lucky enough to pick up a couple of regulars.” Boscha put the cup on the counter and rang it up. “Anything else?”

“No.” Willow handed over three-fifty and gave a disdainful parting glance at the tip jar. “See you around.”

“See ya.”

Willow practically squealed with delight as she left the store. She immediately took out her phone and called Amity.

“You’re lucky you caught me on my break,” said Amity, all in a huff. “What’s up?”

“You won’t believe who’s working at a coffeeshop downtown—Boscha!”

“Oh?” Amity sounded only vaguely interested. She and Boscha had been close in middle school, when Amity was going through a mean girl phase, but eventually left Boscha to rekindle her friendship with Willow. Amity seemed to not feel the same kind of enmity towards Boscha as Willow did, but Amity had not suffered the same kind of bullying and harassment as others had.

“That’s karma for you, Amity.”

“Uh-huh.” The sound of a paper rustling suggested that Amity might have been reading a magazine rather than focusing fully on the conversation.

“I thought you’d be more interested.”

There was a moment of silence until Amity said, in a muffled tone to someone else, “Should I tell her?…She’ll find out eventually.” There was a shuffling sound on the other end. “Boscha’s coming to the wedding.”

“WHAT?!”

Amity was nonplused by the reaction. “Get it all out.”

“How can you— but she’s so mean! Don’t you remember how bad she was to Luz, your _fiancé_!”

“Willow,” said Amity, sternly. “That was _ten_ years ago, in high school. Look, I need to get back to work, but we’ll talk more about this later, okay?” Amity gave a quick goodbye before hanging up, leaving Willow alone and in a confused stupor.

Willow remembered well the viciousness with which Boscha treated her and Luz in high school. Willow and Luz were aberrations in a school of rich and well-connected parents, and Boscha never missed a chance to point this out to them, often sicking her stuck-up underlings on the two girls. The physical and emotional toll was so great that it eventually broke Luz, who one day caught Boscha alone in the girl’s room. No one knows exactly what went down, but Boscha never bothered them, or anyone else, ever again.

What could have happened that Luz would agree to let that witch at her own wedding was beyond Willow’s comprehension, but perhaps she could parse it out of the Latina in due time.


	2. Chapter 2

_“And for my last teammate,” said Amity, with an air of uncertainty. She paused impressively. “I choose…Luz!” Luz’ face lit up happily as she skipped over to stand with Amity._

_Boscha shook her head in annoyance. “You always choose Luz—why didn’t you just get it over with?”_

_“Sports is all about the drama,” said Amity, with a flick of her green bob of hair. They were playing Frisbee Football during lunch, and as per usual, Amity, Luz, and Gus ended up on the same team._

_Boscha huffed out a sigh, then looked to the remaining option: Willow. Chubby little Willow. Nerdy Willow. “Well, get over here—I guess we need you.”_

_Willow cautiously walked over to stand with Boscha’s team. She made a point of standing by Skara, who was pleasant enough if only because Willow had saved her math grade through endless though excellent tutoring. It was mid-May, towards the end of school, and Willow was relieved that this would be the last game of Frisbee Football until September. In fact, it might be the last time that Willow would have to deal with Boscha in any major capacity._

_The next year would be the start of freshman year in high school, and Willow knew for a fact that she and Boscha would not share many classes. Willow worked hard to get into as many AP classes as possible, while also keeping an ear to the ground as to Boscha’s schedule. Willow liked what she heard; Boscha apparently had no interest in AP classes, opting for normal classes to have more time to focus on lacrosse. There was the chance that they may take a music or gym class together, but Willow could at least deal with an hour a day of Boscha—she was well-practiced in that._

_“Here’s the plan,” said Boscha, huddling her team together. “Skara, you and I will pass the frisbee down the field and score the point. If they do get the frisbee back, Willow can just block the passer with her big body.”_

_Willow got a defeated look in her face, which did not go unnoticed by Skara, who said, “I think Willow should be a passer.”_

_Boscha made an incredulous look._

_“Willow is amazing at shot put—if she can heave a seven pound ball, then she can make some good throws with a frisbee.”_

_Boscha looked at Willow with the utmost seriousness. “You think you can do that, nerd?”_

_Willow shook her head quickly._

_“Alright, let’s do this.”_

_Skara’s plan turned out to be a good one, as Boscha’s team completely dominated. As it happened, the tall and imposing Boscha did most of the blocking while Skara and Willow intercepted and scored against Amity’s team. Once lunch ended, Willow was mobbed by her friends once the bell rang. They said: “What a great throw!” and “You should be a captain next time!” and other platitudes. The group was in such a good mood that they completely forgot Boscha and left her to pick up the equipment and return it to the gym, brooding the whole time._

* * *

Fridays in the spring at Park Gardening were always busy. Every stay-at-home parent and well-paid executive from Eugene to Portland came for the best flowers in Oregon, and, inevitably, stayed for the chatter. Cherek had always been gregarious, and routinely sat and talked with customers while Tai worked on the flowers in the back. It might have seemed like an unbalanced distribution of work, but Cherek’s amiable and talkative nature kept the customers coming back whatever the season. But all the insatiable chatter required a near infinite supply of coffee, which one local shop was eager to provide.

“Ah, Boscha, nice to see you,” said Cherek. He helped the woman carry the large tankards of coffee into a large space with sofas and chairs. “Thank you for the refreshments.”

“No problem, Mister Park. Thanks for saving my orchid—you two are magic.”

Cherek clapped his hands together and smiled in excitement “That could be our new slogan! ‘Park Gardening, we’re magic!’” He leaned his head back in the direction of the back room, where Tai was working. “Honey, what do you think of that? Can you hear me? Honey?”

Boscha took that as her cue to excuse herself and head back to the café. “I’ll see you next week, Mister Park.” Cherek waved over his shoulder as he rushed back to talk with Tai. Boscha shook her head with a smile as she got back in her pick-up and drove back to the store—those two were just too much.

The store was still busy when she returned and was pleased to find Amelia keeping up with a long line of customers. Amelia could barely give back the correct amount of change when she first started. Now she was a smiling, coffee-making machine who could handle a dozen orders without breaking a sweat.

Boscha walked around the counter with an approving grin. “Can’t believe you’re the shy little girl I used to babysit.” She sneaked a peak at the tip jar and liked what she saw. “What are your plans this weekend?”

“Start of spring break,” said Amelia, as she placed two cups on the pick-up counter. “But I’m working tomorrow.”

“Wanna close for me?”

“Close?” said Amelia, uncertainly.

“You’re taking the whole week off, right? So close for me. We’re only open till six anyway.”

“You got a hot date or something?”

Boscha grinned and gave a side eye. “Jealous?”

“Well you know how the babysitter trope goes—”

“Alright kiddo, look—if you close for me tomorrow, I’ll throw in a little bonus on your next check, deal?”

“Deal.”

“Alright, I’ll open for the first two hours—be here at noon.”

The rest of the day proceeded well, with a steady stream of customers all the way to closing, at which point Boscha closed up and headed to her apartment, conveniently located on the second floor of the building, accessible through a stairway on the side of the building. If she ever came to own the entire building, she wondered if she might put a stairway on the inside so that she didn’t have to walk in and out. The space was lavish for the price: two bedrooms, one bath, and a spacious living room connected to the kitchen. It was plainer than the café, with tacky brown baseboards and museum white walls, but the price and location were unbeatable.

Since moving back to the area, Boscha had always stayed in Hexide for both price and familiarity. Portland was an exciting city for a young woman of her inclinations, but it was hard to hold down a decent residence on a café salary. After posting up in various apartments for years and saving up money, she put down a big check and a small mortgage to buy the space just above her new job. A part of her missed the commute in and out of Portland—the early morning and late nights, the various characters—but it was an easy sacrifice.

Walking into the apartment, Boscha resisted the urge to simply throw herself on the couch and fall asleep. (Most days she was up at six, opened at seven, closed at eight, and fell asleep at nine.) She kept on her feet long enough to nuke some leftovers, grab a beer, and start up a series on Netflix. “Whatever,” she said, as she started yet another K-drama, headlined by yet another former K-pop star. The female lead was cute as anything, so ff nothing else, it would get her to the nine o’clock hour when she could reliably fall and stay asleep through night.

Her most recent ex had, coincidentally, been a young Korean woman whose preferred recreational activity was watching K-dramas on Netflix—one of the many reasons why the relationship failed. Not that Boscha minded nights in, but it soon became apparent that her ex, cute and bubbly as she was, did little else for personal enjoyment. That was something of a recurring trend amongst her former lovers: couch potatoes. Boscha had no problem with couch potatoes, except that she was not one herself, and endeavored to spend as little time outside of the apartment as possible. That had become her life, after all, so every day off was spent somewhere other than her apartment, even if it was just riding the bus into the city and checking out the local cafés. Maybe that’s what she would do tomorrow, she thought—take the bus in for the afternoon and bum around the city.

A thought struck her, and she took out her phone and sent the following text to Skara: _Are you playing tomorrow at Banshee?_

Skara’s response came a few minutes later: _Starting at 8._

Boscha nodded in approval. _I’ll be there. Buy you a beer after the set?_

 _And during_ , was Skara’s reply. Boscha laughed—that woman could drink for America.


End file.
